


A Slow Burn

by cinemascope08



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drama & Romance, F/M, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-25 05:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6182104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinemascope08/pseuds/cinemascope08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A botched romantic overture and a murder land Jack behind bars and it's up to Miss Fisher to solve the case.  But will Jack's efforts to reunite with his independent companion be worth the trouble, or will Miss Fisher have moved on to the next suitor who comes calling?<br/>Post Season Three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: A Change of Climate

**Author's Note:**

> My first murder mystery! But I'll admit there will likely be more fluff than mystery, so I beg your forgiveness if this tale is not quite up to the standards of Ms. Greenwood. But I would love your feedback and theories! Bear with me as I juggle work and writing. XOXOX

One thing was apparent the moment the door closed behind him was that the City South Police Station jails were kept in a much better condition than they were in his current clime. Perhaps that was due to the fact that the weather was warmer, dryer – there was more sun in general. Or it could be that the Victorian Constabulary was just more adept at maintaining their facilities.

But he had also always been on the other side of the door before now, with the key safely in his pocket.

_So much for a romantic overture,_ he thought wryly.

“So, _Detective Inspector_ ,” the constable spat his title, followed by actual expectoration. This sergeant clearly thought himself above reproach to a fellow copper who sat behind bars. His buttons strained to contain the globe of a stomach within its cloth confines, while he enjoyed his job today a bit more than other days. “In the case it has yet to be mentioned,”

The Inspector stopped listening as his rights to silence were read to him. He could recite them in his sleep and had spoken the words almost every day since he had taken the oath to uphold the very laws he was accused of breaking. The rusty stains on his clothing were a reminder of the very pickle in which he found himself. And he had no idea it had even happened until his wrists were clapped in shackles.

Mentally slapping himself out of his reverie, he prepared his next move. He would need to act fast, if only to get him excused from this crowded and rank dungeon of a jail cell.

“Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” Sergeant Melville acted on the urge to spit again. The green-hued glob landed on the toe of the Inspector’s leather brogues. The detective grimaced, but quickly schooled his face into one of indifference. “With that said, feeling chatty, Inspector?”

He didn’t rise to the opportunity. He wasn’t about to give this paunchy excuse for a cop anything to go on. Using the most even-tempered voice he could muster, “Thank you, no. Please let me know when my solicitor arrives. I believe you have his information on file. With my statement.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned away, found the cleanest piece of wall he could locate, and settled in for a long game of waiting.

_“Come after me,” she said. What a splendid idea that turned out to be._ How typical, he thought, that the amorous reunion he had in mind would be derailed and happen over a dead body. He just hoped it wouldn’t be his own she saw hanging from the noose when the time came.


	2. From the Eyes of the Ward

Although it was far from the norm, Jane loved having her guardian so close to the Continent. She could weekend easily from _l’Universit_ _é_ in Paris to Miss Fisher’s parents’ townhouse in Hampstead and catch up on all the news from her home. It was like having a piece of Melbourne sun shining through the London clouds. She hoped it could last forever, even though she knew their time so close together would be finite and Miss Fisher would return to the sunburned country before too long. But having an excuse to return to Melbourne and see everyone would be lovely too!

Jane was thrilled to receive a telegram from Miss Fisher stating she had landed at the royal airfield in London and would expect to see her the next available moment she had. Jane had booked her crossing the next day and had been home nearly every weekend available to her. And as much as she loathed the near misses she had experienced since being the ward of the notorious and honorable Miss Fisher, she felt all the more alive in her presence. There was rarely the dull moment.

And all the news she had to catch up on! So many cases Miss Fisher had aided with since her last visit! Hugh and Dot were now married! Miss Fisher’s title had been secured with her father’s tormentor and brother ready for the noose (unfortunate, but a necessity after all that had happened). And the Inspector!

Oh, Miss Fisher had told her all about the Detective Inspector’s romantic declaration. How wonderful! Jane relentlessly hoped that Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson would somehow, eventually, admit their feelings for one another. Everyone could see it! And Jane’s attempt at forcing their hand on her last visit in July had failed, no thanks to Aunt Prudence, who had moments before succumbed to Jane’s harmless prank with Bert.

Their affections for each other were obvious from the start. Jane remembered being rescued by the Inspector on the rooftop – Miss Fisher had total faith in him while he handed her mother through the window to safety. She would forever be indebted to him. The Mistletoe prank of ’29 was meant to speed things along and help pay back a portion of that debt.

For many months following that rescue, the inspector had seemed drawn and, frankly, lonely. But Jane heard from Dot how much more the inspector was coming to visit for a night cap after a difficult case, often staying much later than would be advisable in a respectable household – or as respectable a household as Miss Fisher could run, with her rag tag friends and family. Jane hoped she could become at least half of the woman her guardian was.

“Come after me, Jack Robinson!” Jane had never been one for penny dreadfulls or the pictures, but she could hear the challenge in her head and watched the scene play itself over and over again. And she half-wished the same thing would happen to her. Eventually. And only with the right individual.

So, she was surprised to receive a telegram about two weeks after Miss Fisher had landed from none other than the inspector himself! He had accepted her challenge and was coming on the next ship to leave port for London, but did not want Miss Fisher to know. Jane’s squealed from excitement knowing she would have to keep the secret until he arrived. She was eager to have her own meeting with Jack, too. There were few people she could discuss literature and history with at length and he treated her like an intellectual equal – with respect and never talking down.

How sweet a reunion it will be! _In fact,_ she thought, _he should be arriving any day now._

She could barely contain herself over the breakfast table when Miss Fisher walked into the dining room.

“Good morning, Jane, dear,” Miss Fisher yawned, plopping herself into a chair across from her ward.

“Good morning!” She tried to keep her voice somewhat quiet. It was difficult knowing the excitement that was just around the corner for Miss Fisher.

“Morning, Mother.” Phryne leaned to kiss the head of the table.

“Good morning, Phryne. A bit early for you, isn’t it?”

Phryne rubbed her eyes as she heald back another yawn. “Of course it is. But I’m afraid I’m still on Australian time. I would love to sleep ‘til sundown, but my body can’t seem to adjust.”

Mrs. Fisher, the Baroness of Richmond, glanced knowingly at her daughter as she took a sip from her tea. “And I couldn’t help but notice that you’re not staying out like you used to. Now, why is that, I wonder . . .”

“No reason, Mother,” Phryne’s eyes darted across the table to Jane, who was reminded to hold her smile. Jane knew why. “I just don’t find London life as diverting as it once was.” There were plenty of murders to keep her distracted, but the London inspectors were nowhere near as inviting. Nor were they as amusing to annoy. They didn’t seem to appreciate her efforts or her décolletage quite the same way as the constabulary back in Melbourne.

Phryne ended the conversation with a decisive swipe of butter across her toast. She opened the paper and began to flip through its freshly ironed pages, the warmth from the paper flowed through her fingers. _Goodness, how I miss Mr. Butler and the others._

Jane could read Miss Fisher’s expressions as she heaved a heavy sigh across the way. She was lonely. _But the inspector will be here soon!_ Which reminded her – Miss Fisher had been keeping other company as of late. But as far as Jane knew, it was all above board. Miss Fisher had been all innocence and socially acceptable behavior, even by London standards, as of late. However, Jane suspected that the gentleman caller had other motives in mind. She was observant and highly protective of her new-found mother. She’d been rooting for the inspector since day one and she was not about to let some British Toff whisk her away.

“Oh, Miss, that reminds me. Mr. McNair called not long ago. He wanted me to send his regards, but he will be unable to take you to Covent Garden this morning, as promised.”

“Thank you, Jane. I can’t say I’m too disappointed. I could go with a break from his attentions.” Jane smirked into her tea. Phryne was still sleepy, but not so far as to miss the expression. It was the spitting image of someone she knew very well. It was time to make her daughter sweat a bit and keep her on her toes.  “And Jane, what exactly reminded you of that message?”

Jane blanched. “What?”

“You said, ‘That reminds me.’ What about our conversation reminded you to pass along the message?” Mrs. Fisher continued to sip her tea and watched the interaction with passing interest. The gossip pages were holding her attention much more ardently. Her daughter appeared in them more frequently now, and she needed to find any information she could on this McNair fellow who seemed so entranced by Phryne.

Jane cleared her throat, stalling for her thoughts to catch up. “Oh, um, well . . . You know, London life and all. And Covent Garden is in London . . . And then Mr. McNair called, and I need to go upstairs and study some history before I head back to school. You know, exam season is right around the corner!” She was gone before Phryne could pry for more information, her blond braid whipping around behind her. The girl was up to something; she just didn’t know what it was.

Phryne continued flipping through the paper until a small headline caught her attention. AUSTRALIAN MURDERED ON PASSAGE FROM LISBON. _That’s interesting! Nothing from Australia ever ends up in the London Times._ Her eyes continued skimming the article for particulars, some words escaping under her breath. “ _Razor . . . Lorna Charmichael . . . Adelaide . . . suspect in custody, Detective Inspec-_ NO!” She leapt from her seat immediately.

Her exclamation caused her mother to spit out her tea, splattering the advice columns and making the ink bleed. “Phryne, dear! What ever is the matter?”

Phryne leaped from her seat, her silk robe fluttering behind her. “Sorry, Mother! I have urgent, _urgent_ business to attend to. Don’t wait up,” she shouted down the stairs.

She dressed as quickly as she could – allowing for the latest London fashions she was able to find a matching cloche for her trench coat.   _The London weather does absolutely nothing for one's wardrobe._   She couldn’t see him again without her signature look, including the swag of red lipstick. That is, if she didn’t rub it off her lips in worry by the time it took to get to the station holding him. London traffic also did nothing to hasten her journey, her mind filled with thoughts of longing, frustration, and distractions to use to get past the front desk.

 _We’re going to need a damn good lawyer. I’m only a damn good detective. Why did he listen to me? “Come after me,’ really, Phryne! Bloody splendid idea that was. Some bloody cheek you have!_ London was clearly getting to her. She had never used “bloody” in her entire life. Curse words were the sign of small man, or woman, although she still found them utterly satisfying to use in the right context.   _Bloody London, God, I miss Melbourne._

She marched straight to the front desk of the Metropolitan Police and rang the bell repeatedly.

“Easy, Miss! Bloody ‘ell, you’ll break the bell. Now what seems to be the trouble?”

Phryne straightened her posture and stated her purpose. “I need to speak with a suspect you’re holding, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”

“Oh really? And why would that be?”

“He’s my client. I’m his private investigator hired to solve his current crisis,” she flicked one of her business cards out between two slender, lace-gloved fingers for the constable’s scrutiny.

“’Lady Detective?’ Are you ‘aving a lark, Miss?”  He seemed like a nice fellow, keen and hopeful, despite his sexist reaction.  She almost felt bad she was about to make a fool of him.  She'd have to remember his name, Aldrin, and send a proper apology later.  Maybe she could make a cop of this man yet.

“I assure you, Constable, I am completely serious.”  

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait. He’s currently meeting with his solicitor.”

“Excellent. Saves me a step. Which room?” She pointed down a hallway and began to walk towards it without waiting for a response.

“Now, wait! Miss!” The constable went to grab her, but it was too late. She was already marching down the corridor shouting his name.

“Jack? In here? Whoops! Excuse me. Ja-aack!” Checking every room she passed, she peeked her head into the last door on the left and saw the long face of her inspector – looking much the worse for wear – sitting at the table. “Ah, here he is, thank you, Constable!” She shimmied her way into the room and slammed the door in the copper’s face. She took a deep breath to collect herself before turning to address the room.

“Now then. It seems you are unable to stay out of trouble without my supervision, Inspector.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, shorter chapter than I anticipated. However, your lovely comments are so encouraging! I'm immediately proud of the welcome this community has extended to me. I hope I don't disappoint! And I'm thinking over certain scenes in my head- I think Fire_Sign said it best with one of her stories - the case will definitely be more background than casefic, but I hope I can weave a good yarn regardless. As always, critiques are welcome as you help me improve. XOXOX


	3. Trading Barbs

How long had it been? He’d lost track long ago and the change in time zones did not aid in his calculations. When they docked, handcuffs already in place around his wrists, it was mid-afternoon, maybe? His memory was still hazy. By the time they’d questioned him and gotten his statement it was dark and rainy. He could hear the big, fat drops hitting the brick exterior and the lone window in the cell of the Metropolitan Police station, the rain cleaning the glass as it made tracks through the grime outside.

Jack had been here once before, years ago, after the Great War finally ceased. Visiting it had been one of his motivations for enlisting at the academy upon his return to the beloved Down Under. So many people needed help and were damaged, mentally and physically. He was one of the lucky ones. But he wanted to continue helping, continue to serve those in need. Becoming a cop seemed like a natural progression and gave him new ambition.

 _But it wasn’t enough for some,_ he thought of his former wife, whose familial connections helped him get on the fast track to a position at City South. And again, that ultimately lead to betrayal and heartbreak – some through his own actions, but mostly through the lack of others' empathy and their greed. Rosie wanted someone who could dote on her and Jack could not provide. Perhaps she only resented him in the end because he ended being so much like her father in terms of commitment to the job. But even that new crutch had been destroyed when corruption broke those who she ran to when she left him. And he wanted to be the one to put her back together after her father’s duplicity, but found he was no longer the best one for that job either. He wanted to help, but he found it rather difficult to decipher if it was his morals that told him to help, or baggage from their marriage. He wanted to make it up to her, but she was the first one to walk away.

That night, after Rosie had cried her heart out at the station, Jack dutifully comforted her with words. She offered herself to him once again, but he denied knowing it was a last ditch effort to grasp at familiarity in a future filled with unknowns for her. He dropped her off at her sister’s house and drove away to St. Kilda without even considering it. The resulting sense of closure was followed quickly by ones of freedom and possibilities. The next few months and cases gave him more confidence in his actions, as both a cop and a, for lack of a better word, suitor.

Would she consider him? Was he seriously considering it himself? She wasn’t about to change her ways. Was he coming around to a more flexible mindset? Perhaps. Or maybe his will was just slowly diminishing, such was the effect she had on him. _Strumpet’s fool indeed. Christ, no wonder we lock people up! It's torture that all one can do is think and piss. Memory Lane is the last place I want to be._

He played with the bloodied hem of his shirt, now devoid of all cleanliness. _This was my last clean shirt, too._ His mind began to drift inward again when the delightful Sergeant Melville returned and tapped impatiently on the bars. “Oi, _Detective Inspector_. Your lawyer is here.” Jack stood up from his perch, buttoned his jacket, and respectfully held out his wrists for cuffing.   Once locked, Melville pulled Jack close for a taunt. “Feeling chatty, yet?” Jack, again refusing to give the man any sort of satisfaction, merely held a finger to his lips and gestured with an open palm for the Sergeant to lead the way. Melville stomped ahead. “Don’t bother me none. They all talk on the way to the 'angman. That’ll come soon enough for you.”

Jack shuffled through the halls until he was almost shoved into a room. The door closed behind him and the noise and chatter from beyond was blissfully silenced.

“I’ll admit I was surprised to receive your telegram announcing your journey to come visit, but receiving notice of your arrest really takes the cake!”

“It’s good to see you, Leslie.” Jack extended his hand for a shake, the cuffs clinking their greeting. “I had hoped the circumstances would be different. I’d no idea I would need your particular expertise.”

“What are old friends for if not to assist with scrapes such as these? We can expense with the pleasantries for now. Before anything else happens, I’d like to go over your statement and your version of the events as you remember them.”

Jack smirked at his solicitor’s formal tone so soon after greeting him so jovially. “Yes, I’m familiar with the procedures.” He sat down in the cold metal chair across the table from Leslie, his hands fisted in front of him. “I’m afraid my memory is a bit murky. I remember, waking up and – did you hear that?”

Jack froze when he heard his name from the hall again in a voice that was all too familiar. “Oh no.” His shoulders slumped in defeat, not that he knew was he was resisting. And though knew there was no time, he stated his request anyway. “I’d like to go back to my cell, please.”

Not two seconds later the door to their room opened and Miss Fisher, smartly dressed in her trademark cloche and trench coat, waltzed in. “Ah, here he is, thank you, Constable!”  She slammed it shut and leaned against the door in a rare moment of silence. _That’s unusual. What did I just witness?_

She whipped around and he thought for a brief moment she could read his thoughts.  “Now then. It seems you are unable to stay out of trouble without my supervision, Inspector.”

 _There she is._ He bristled. “You’ll note, Miss Fisher, that I had no trouble until I got within a stone’s throw of the country in which you’ve been residing for the past 9 weeks.”

“9 weeks? I must be losing my touch if it took you that long to give chase.”

“Yes, well, not all of us have a plane at their personal disposal and no job and great wealth. Others must rely on alternative means. And last I checked, trains could not travel on water.”

“Goodness, well _you_ certainly know how to leave a girl wanting.”

“That’s rich. You talking about wanting.”

“Ahem” a deep voice rumbled, interrupting their tête-a-tête.

“Les!” She turned and addressed his Lawyer, apparently oblivious to his presence until it was made known. “Is this who you canceled on me for?”

“’Les?’” Jack reacted to the use of a nickname more than anything. “You two know each other?”

“Yes, I’ve been keeping Miss Fisher company since she arrived on our glorious shores. I was engaged” – Jack balked at the word – “to bring Miss Fisher to Covent Garden today, until I received your call from the station.”

“Thank heavens you did!” Phryne was practically glowing. Her appearance was not lost on him, but again the circumstances left something to be desired. “I find this much more entertaining than a shrubbery and a fountain. How do you know Mr. McNair, Jack?”

“Fellow army man, now my lawyer.”

“How fortuitous!”

“And your courtier, it would seem.” Jack couldn’t stop the accusation before it left his mouth. He also didn’t see Leslie McNair shrug his shoulders in mock agreement, but his attention was on Phryne.  I was her turn to bristle at his remarks.

“Now, Jack,”

“My arrest is your entertainment, then?” he cut her off. And he honestly didn’t want to know if his old friend was now Phryne’s _old friend._ He struggled to deal with the number of notches in her bedpost that he knew about as it was. This was going not at all as he’d planned. _Why did I come half way around the world again?_

If she was wounded, she didn’t show it. “I’d hardly call this entertaining.  I read your name in the paper and decided to take on your case.  So I skipped breakfast and tormented a harmless constable to get here.  Is this how you greet your private investigator?”

“So I’m a meal ticket?”

“AH-hem.” Leslie left little room for argument this time. “Alright. I’m going to let you two clear the elephant in the room later. Right now, Jack, if you agree to letting Miss Fisher take on your case,” He waited for his client to respond before continuing. Jack held his hands up, again acknowledging defeat.  Like she would let him turn her away anyway.

“Good. Miss Fisher?” Leslie stood and offered his chair to the Lady Detective. She smiled and accepted his seat across from the glum Inspector.

With pen at the ready, Leslie stood to the end of the table, acting as a barrier to further vocal barbs. “Jack, if you would.”

The Inspector interlaced his fingers and began.


	4. Taking Arms

Leslie McNair, legal counsel and known eligible bachelor, was busily jotting down his last few thoughts on paper, the scratching of his fountainhead the only sound echoing off the walls. Jack studiously avoided meeting Miss Fisher’s stare, his breaths deep and even after recounting his experience, hopefully for the last time. That is, unless he needed to make an appearance before the court.

“Right,” Leslie’s voice cut through the air, “That should be all. Do you have any last questions or concerns for me? As your solicitor?” Jack shook his head. “I’m going to excuse myself for a moment. Speak to the men upstairs about posting your bail.”

The moment the door closed behind him the room filled with tension, the white subway tile amplifying emotional vibrations between the two familiars.

“Alone at last.” Phryne reached across the table for Jack’s hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. Jack, however, did not reciprocate and withdrew from her grasp, sliding his hands under the table and out of sight.

“Why are you here, Miss Fisher?”

The use of her formal name didn’t deter her. “I would have thought that was obvious, Jack.” He finally met her eyes, his expression stoic and seemingly indifferent.   “I was worried about you.”

“You were worried,” he parroted back, almost like he didn’t understand.

“Of course I was worried!” She made to stand, upset that he was so passive. “Jack, the first thing I saw this morning was your name in the paper, labeling you an alleged murderer. How do you think I should feel, knowing the last thing I said to you, and knowing you actually listened to me, only to have your plans thwarted by some villain yet to be determined? Worried is just one of the things I’m feeling at the moment.”

Jack watched as she paced the room. Her voice bounced off the tile and surrounded him from all sides. He thought he should want nothing more than to envelope her in his arms and hold her close; it had been too long. But instead, he couldn’t move. He was numb.

Phryne noticed his silence and observed his face for a few moments. When his expression didn’t change she prompted him. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

He weighed the questions, turning it over in his mind. He came to the realization he wasn’t numb. He was actually experiencing something much deeper than that, something that burned beneath his skin. He had just grown to live with it for so long he’d forgotten he was feeling anything.

“Jack?”

“I’m honestly not sure how to explain how I feel. I think it’s something akin to sadness.” Outside of his job, which was so much a part of his identity, he felt his life was mundane. Apart from the frequent nightcap at Wardlow, it was work or home – which was little more than a place to rest his head before his next shift. Now that he had a glimmer of what life could be, the excitement it could contain, he didn’t want it to be taken from him because he was framed. But even it he wasn’t framed, he’d found his life’s blood already in the arms of another man. The burning in his blood soon turned to boiling. “I took an extended leave from City South on a whim, so my finances are finite. My surprise, romantic declaration was spoiled, and my saviors are likely . . . canoodling together.”

“Excuse me?” Phryne gaped.

“ _And_ one of those saviors is the sole reason why I made this trip. So, actually, I don’t think I’m sad. I think I’m angry.” His expression turned into a snarl.

Phryne pursed her lips. This was not her Jack talking. This was a different being almost entirely. “I’m sorry. Can you return to the bit about me _canoodling_ with Leslie McNair? I want to make sure I heard you correctly.”

Instead Jack got up and began walking the length of the table, his anger now self-aware. “I travel half way around the world, because I stupidly believed a certain lady would be waiting for me. But instead I find she has already engaged the next charming bachelor to have crossed her path!” He slammed his hands on the table making his cuffs rattle against the wooden surface. Phryne jumped at the sound. “I mean Convent Garden, really?”

But she met him with equal vigor and stood, leaning across the table. “And why shouldn’t I enjoy a walk through the park, Jack?”

He inched forward. “Perhaps you’ve found you do have a type and it happens to be men of the law? Enforcement or judicial – I mean, whichever happens to be at hand.”

“I must be imagining what I’m hearing!” Phryne was flabbergasted. Who was this Inspector? Is this what he really thought of her, of her actions? If she were to show mere friendliness to another man would he crumble so easily? She hoped it was just the shock of his situation, that he wasn’t the jealous type. “Is your masculinity really so fragile that when the object of your affection shows the slightest bit of attention to another person you automatically assume defeat?”

“And are you so desperately easy you lay down with the first available body or do you just enjoy stringing your catch along?”

That did it. He didn’t hear the slap, rather, he felt it acutely. Too little too late, he knew he’d gone too far. He peered at Phryne sheepishly as she crossed her arms, trying to control the tears threatening to fall.

“Are you finished?” she asked. Her voice was strong despite the risk of a cry.

Jack licked his lips, trying to lubricate his now-dry mouth. Her slap seemed to have evaporated his saliva. “I’m sorry,” came his breathy response.

“I’m afraid I don’t believe you right now.” He merely nodded. _Why should she believe me? I shouldn’t even ask for forgiveness._

“Do you want me off the case?” Her voice lost its confidence suddenly. The last 24 hours must have had more of an effect on him than he realized. It was such a silly question to him, he almost laughed. He was experiencing so many emotions all at once – deep sadness, anger, and jealousy. But he also felt deeply for the Honorable Miss Fisher, who, after being insulted and doubted, made him believe for a moment that she still wanted to help him. “Because if I’m to understand those are your true feelings, then you do not wish to have me around. And if that is how you feel, I promise I won’t fight you this time.”

Jack thought back to that crucial turning point in their professional relationship. When the impact of her death behind the wheel made him first realize the gravity of his affections. He attempted to cut her out of his life entirely, and she clawed her way back to him, stoking a fire within that he’d long forgotten to tend. Yet, she stood before him, her integrity in question only moments before, and offered to walk away in a clean break. He could leave and start fresh with his heart intact.

But, try as he might, he knew that wouldn’t be the end. Like those bleak seconds where he believed Miss Fisher dead, he could feel his resolve to recover from the loss of her melting. He knew he couldn’t survive another break like that. He wouldn’t want to survive it! No future without her would leave him whole. Maybe she wouldn’t fight for them again. But the next steps were his to take. He’d come so far for the sole purpose of meeting with her again. If he had to take up actual sword and shield to fight for her, for them, so be it. There would be no coming back if he let her walk away.

He met her gaze so there was no mistaking his intent. “I want you to fight me.”

Phryne’s shoulders dropped back. That was not the answer she was expecting. But she was relieved to know her Jack was not gone. He was just . . . lost.

She was spared responding as Mr. McNair had just returned, knocking as he was already over the threshold. If he noticed the energy in the room, he was too polite to comment.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to spend some more time with London’s finest, Jack. Your bail is still undetermined. Until then, Miss Fisher, perhaps we can visit Covent Garden after all?”

Jack couldn’t contain the roll of his eyes. Luckily, Phryne was the only one who caught his ire. “Thank you, Les. But I’m afraid my day is booked solid. I’ve got a fight for which I need to prepare.” And as quickly as she made her presence known, she made her exit; her signature scent lingered, the only proof she was ever there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for my gross delay! Work was hectic and I've moved to a new apartment. Life intervenes.
> 
> Please also excuse any errors in Police Work or the Law. I'm lazy and I just want to see my fluff come to fruition.
> 
> Thanks for the continued support!! XOXOX


	5. Finding Solace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All! You may want to go back a few chapters. I've made an edit or two. The most notable being a name change. Lydia Charmichael is now Lorna Charmichael. Lydia is a repeat name from the very first episode (shame on me). And Lorna sounds wicked cool in the Australian accent. Do with that what you will.
> 
> Thanks for sticking it out!

“Robinson!  Congratulations.  You’ve made bail in record time.”

One of the many constables on duty unceremoniously uncuffed Jack and escorted him to the Station steps.  The young officer extended his hand just inside the doorway.  “Sir, should you require any assistance while you’re here, please don’t hesitate to ask.  My name is Aldrin, Lucas Aldrin.”

Jaw agape, Jack reluctantly shook Aldrin’s hand.  “Thank you?”

“My pleasure, Sir.  Good luck with your case.  Like I said - anything you need. Your Private Investigator is really something.”  Aldrin topped his cap and resumed his duties.

_My Private Investigator?  One guess as to who that could possibly be. . ._

Jack descended the Metropolitan Station steps wondering where he would go from here.  But he wasn’t left to wonder for too long.

A shiny, red automobile whipped up to the curb beside him while the passenger door popped open in a silent command of “Get in!”  He had a moment of hesitation and remained on the sidewalk.

“Really?”  Her voice reached out to him from the leather interior.  “Jack, you are covered in dirt, blood, and God only knows what else you picked up in a London cell.  And it’s beginning to rain.”

_You must look quite the romantic vision, then, to have an eligible heiress invite you into her car.  Outside the police station._

After, one more moment of hesitation he joined her.  The cityscape began to blur in the rain as they accelerated through busy streets.  “Miss Fisher, —“

“AH!  Not one word.  You’re much too tired, likely in need of some real food, and If I’m being completely honest with myself, I’m still tender after our sparring earlier.”

“How did you even manage my bail? I haven't even been notified - ”

“Well as you know your bail will be repaid to me when you appear in court or if your case is thrown out, of which I’m fairly positive it will be latter.  And I had a friendly constable put in a good word with the Magistrate to release you into my custody.”  She flashed him a smile and returned her attention to the road.

“You make friends fast.”

“It is amazing how quickly one can make acquaintances when they grease the wheels with a basket of baked pasties.  And Constable Aldrin is a bit more malleable than the others.”

“He does seem rather eager.”

“Yes.  Remind you of someone, does he?”

They slipped into companionable silence.  The whirring of the tires on the road lulled Jack into the first comfortable sleep he’d had since docking.  A gentle squeeze on his knee brought him back to the present outside a modest townhouse.

“Welcome to Everhart.  Please don’t mind the owners.  My parents shouldn’t bother us too much.”  Phryne proceeded to march inside leaving him to catch up, as per usual.  “Now, you’ll find your lodgings will be through the second door on the right at the top pf the stairs.  The water closet is the next door down.  You are to bathe, eat, and sleep.  We have some events already lined up tomorrow so I’ll need you at your best.”

“Miss Fisher, I don’t know how I can - “

“No! Not one word, I said.  Bath, dinner, sleep.”  She pointed behind him to the stairs in the foyer.  He turned to go but a hand on his shoulder prevented his departure.  Her whisper at his ear a soothing balm for the burn of past few hours.  “And should you need me, Inspector, my door is just to the right of yours.”  

She released him, but it was a few moments before he could move.  A gentle push urged him to the lavatory to cleanse him of the horrors so recently experienced.  He went through his ablutions without much thought, putting on the blue cotton pajamas he found in his very comfortable accommodations.  

He was half expecting Miss Fisher to have gone through the trouble of putting together an elaborate feast.  Instead he found a plate of ham, cheese, mustard, pickle sandwiches with a tumbler of whisky.  

He smiled at her thoughtfulness, but could not help wishing the circumstances were completely different.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen,” he yawned, slipping under the luscious duvet.  He felt his body sink deeper into the mattress as sleep quickly took hold of him.  During his last remnants of consciousness he could have sworn he heard his door open, but he fell to his exhaustion, not caring enough to check.

He was awake enough the second time when the door opened.  He saw the culprit.

“Ms. Charmichael?”

“Hello, Jack.  I know you weren’t feeling well, so I’ve brought you some tea.”

He attempted a smile, but it was really more of a grimace.  “Thank you.  I think I can stomach it.  I never have gotten my sea legs.”

The room swayed slightly in his peripherals as he adjusted his balance with the waves, the ivory walls reflecting speckled sunlight through the porthole.  He was going to be so happy planting his feet on solid ground again.  He kept thinking how much he would need to stay grounded once he saw Miss Fisher.  It would be like flying, he imagined, when they were finally together again, unimpeded by distance or their reluctance.

He took the cup from Lorna with a steady hand.  That much he could manage.  Nodding his thanks he took a sip.

Lorna was a nice girl, but that was about it.  She was plain in appearance with mousy brown hair tied back with a simple ribbon.  Her words were unremarkable.  Jack would never have noticed her if she hadn’t bumped into him when they started the voyage rom Lisbon.  Not that he spent much time outside his cabin, his seasickness too much for him to bear.  The one time he felt well enough, he tried to eat something from the galley, where she stumbled into him, knocking his broth to the floor.

She was all apologies for her clumsiness, fawning over the spilled cup, offering to get another.  Jack was in the process of declining when another bout of illness overtook him, his knees buckling.  She immediately steadied him and insisted walking him back to his cabin.  In no state to again decline her assistance, he kept the contents of his stomach on the rocky walk back.  She introduced herself at the door.  “Lorna Charmichael.  If you need anything I’m actually just a couple of doors down.”  He was unable to introduce himself before he promptly shut the door and proceeded to turn his stomach inside out.

He was then surprised, on his second sip of tea, to recall that in fact he never did introduce himself.

“I must ask, Ms. Charmichael, how is it that you know my name?”  The cup weighed heavy in his hand.

“What do you mean?”  She started.  “Everyone calls you Jack.”

“But I’ve not left my cabin once during this voyage, essept when you bummed in-no . . . intome . . .” 

The room spun more than was necessary for being at sea.  He began to fall back on the bed.  Lorna caught the cup from his hand, cradling his head and pouring the remainder of the drugged tea into his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” her voice hitched as she settled him in the bed.  She began to untuck his shirt, popping buttons in a hurried manner.  Next she unbuttoned his trousers and lowered them on his hips, enough to make him appear compromised.  “He promised my mother would be well cared for if I did this last thing for him.  I love him so much.”  The tears were falling now, streaking the little makeup she had on.

His limbs were heavy and he found he could not speak nor resist the pull of the drug now coursing through his veins.  He could only watch as Lorna rummaged through his things until she found his shaving kit.  Liberating his razor, she then climbed on top of him.  Although she was slight, he could not shake her, trapped beneath this disturbed woman.

“This will prove it to him.  You’ll see!”

She began to cut herself, down the length of each arm, her blood dripping warm around him.  She picked up both of his hands, deliberately guiding them over her wounds, around her neck, over her breasts and hips, marking herself with his fingerprints.  As the blood slowly left her body, his vision seemed to drain with it, the last effect of the drug beginning.  

Lorna’s hair shifted from brown to black, revealing a short bob now very familiar to Jack.  _No . . . Phryne!_ She was dying.  And he could do nothing!  She was bleeding everywhere.  _So much blood!_

He tried to lift his arms, stop the bleeding, save her!  He tried screaming for help.  But he remained silent, his mouth open in muted terror as she raised the crimson blade to her throat - 

“Jack!  Wake up!”

He jolted upright, grasping at his attacker.  Gulping down air as if he was on the brink of suffocation, it was several moments before he realized the room was no longer rocking. The sun had set and there was no bow creaking beneath his feet.

“Jack.”

“Miss Fisher,” he gasped, finding his voice again.  In the chaos of returning from limbo, he had grabbed Phyrne’s wrists to stop the blood.  But there was no blood. He lifted up the sleeves of her robe to carefully examine her arms.  Exhaling, he buried his face in her stomach, “Thank God.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, indulging herself a moment of happiness despite Jack’s apparent distress.  “Bad dream?”

“More like a memory.”  In that instance he let himself forget, feeling the warmth of her belly through her silky chemise.  “Did I wake you?”  He moved his hands to her hips, teasing the hem with his thumbs.

“No, I was reading.  Lucky for you I’ve been checking on you every so often.  You were thrashing around your covers.”  Her nails gently massaged their way down his back.

“I haven’t had dreams like this since just after the War.  Someone always seems to die and I’m always so helpless.”

“I wish I could make it all better.”  She knelt in front of him, taking his face in her hands.  “What can I do? Tell me.”  

_What could she do?_   It would have been so easy to give into the temptation and find solace coming undone in the arms of one Phryne Fisher, pushing aside all of his recent terrors.  It was what she was offering, wasn’t it?  Their gaudy night.  He once banished the shadows for her, now she was just returning the favor.

But even now, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  He wouldn’t allow it to happen like that.  Although he knew how she felt about him, and he had just traveled half around the world to meet her, he refused to let it happen under these terms.

“What are you reading?”

Phyrne reclined on her heels.  He wouldn’t be seeking that kind of comfort tonight, after all.  “A Bronte.  Full of gothic brooding.”

“Would you . . . read to me?”  He caressed her wrist, checking once again the cuts were dreamed.

Phryne nodded.  “I’ll just be a moment.  Back to bed with you.”

She propped herself up on the pillows when she returned.  “Are you familiar with _Villette_?”

“I’m afraid I never got around to that one.”  He nestled in beside her ready for the bedtime story.

“You’ll love it.  A woman struggles to reconcile her love with her fierce independence.”

“Are you sure _you_ didn’t write it? It’s sounds very autobiographical.”

“Well then, you’re already caught up!”

She could already tell his breathing was changing.  He yawned, “Feel free to just continue where you left off.  I’m sure I’ll be able to keep up.”

Brushing his hair back simply because she was able, she cracked open the spine of her novel to soothe him with words, his favorite of all cures.

_“There is, in lovers, a certain infatuation of egotism; they will have a witness of their happiness, cost that witness what it may.”_

“Mmmh,” he mumbled.  “Definitely autobiographical . . .”

She smirked and continued reading.  _I’ll just stay until he falls asleep,_ she promised herself.  But it wasn't long before the rhythm of Jack’s breathing and the warmth of the duvet lulled her deeper into the pillows. 

There was a certain comfort in knowing that he was safe.  He was with her, actually by her side.  As much as she was cursing it earlier, she was ecstatic that he had listened to her, coming half way around the world.

And then Lorna Charmichael happened. . .  _A pox on both your houses . . ._  

She would solve this.  This was just another kink in the chain that tied them together.  Eventually, they would find peace.  It was just a matter of cracking the code.

Eventually she succumbed, breaking her own promise.  As if sensing her decision to stay, Jack pulled closer.  They would steal this moment of peace, and find more later.


End file.
